


Pre-determined Morning

by AlertsDontExist



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Accidental parallels, Angst and Romance, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Hannibal Flash Fic #001, I probably put a lot of religious symbolism in here by accident, Panic Attacks, Past Emotional Manipulation, People aren't throwing punches or anything here but it's sure not a cute picnic date, additional content warnings in summary, blood mentions, dream - Freeform, mentions of other characters but Alana and Margot are the only ones that make lasting appearances
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-14 08:22:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28667691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlertsDontExist/pseuds/AlertsDontExist
Summary: SPOILER: No lasting character deaths: there are a few mentions of Alana dying in her dreams previously, and a few threats of her death this time, but she is fine.CW: Panic Attacks: There is a 2 paragraph moment detailing a short panic attack starting with the line "A current starts to fight against her" and ending with "She can’t stop. She won’t."CW: Underwater: The first half of this fic is spent underwater with multiple mentions of drowning and fears/threats of it.CW: Blood mentions: Alana is described as being drenched in blood that will not wash off~~~~~"All I see is dark swarming behind my eyelids. I dream darkness comes into me. It comes and it is insidious. Up my nose, into my ears. It comes and I feel poisoned."Alana has escaped from Hannibal's control, she has been let free from the hospital, and she has nothing to fear. Or so she thinks.Set in Season 2 immediately before Digestivo
Relationships: Alana Bloom/Margot Verger, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter (Referenced)
Kudos: 9
Collections: Hannibal Flash Fic #001, Hannibal Flash Fic Week 1





	Pre-determined Morning

When Alana was still in the hospital, surrounded by sterile colors, blinding lights, and the loud hum of machines running day and night, the dreams still found her. They came often, just as they did before she knew what they meant. Just as they did after, until she was released with a wheelchair and a checkup. After that they got fuzzy, and she couldn’t remember them as well. Eventually, they stopped coming at all. But before then, she lost count of how many times she found herself there, asleep one moment and violently awake the next, thrashing in the sheets until she eventually freed herself or had thrown herself to the floor in her blind panic to escape. It happened a few times in the hospital before the doctor attached restraints to her stomach and legs to keep her from hurting herself during these times.

The dreams always started the same: water; deep, inky black; rushing and malleable, lapping at her sides as she lay in bed. Slowly it rose, quicker with each passing moment until it covered her completely, consuming her in what she’d thought had been every way possible. Engulfing her from the inside out, filling her nose and mouth as much as she tried to keep it out, stuck in one place so she could do nothing but feel herself drift deeper and deeper beneath the surface. All at once she regains control of her limbs and finds them screaming in exhaustion, though she has yet to move an inch. Her lungs are desperate for air and inhale against her will, taking in more water, until it fills her completely inside and out. Alana finds that her lungs quiet, then, satisfied with the oxygen in this liquid, sated to let her live. She finds herself comfortably breathing, filling her lungs and still living, right up until the moment she doesn’t. Alana knows intimately that she’s drowning. She’s miles below the surface and the water is already everywhere around her and inside her and there’s no escape and she’s drowning. 

Sometimes, in these dreams, she would scream. Or, try to, more accurately. She would open her mouth and try to expend all of it as though there was still some secret pocket of breathable air deep inside that she could still find. Alana could feel her chest vibrate with the force of her vocal cords trying desperately to make sound, and her lungs contracting to a painful degree in pursuing both her goals. But there was not a single sound to be heard. Not even a bubble escaped her lips. Other times, Alana simply accepted her fate. The water is comforting and calm. It’s soft and gentle, warm and soothing, sweet and numb. She lets herself sink without even opening her eyes. It’s no use, anyway, she knows. There is nothing above her. Even if there was, the water is blacker than night and obscures everything, there would be no hope of seeing anything at all. Her limbs are limp and her heart slows, and she sinks without a second thought.

This time, the dream is different. It starts the same, and when Alana opens her eyes underwater, she feels calm. She feels safe and understands no harm is near, and none will come so long as she simply remains. The dream begins to change when she feels movement nearby. Water shifts against her still form, pushing from something else moving around, but Alana knows there is nothing there. She is alone, and she is safe. Horribly, terrifyingly safe. But her eyes are open, and for the first time, there’s something beyond the crushing darkness to meet them. There’s a light above, miles away, at the surface. A single, minuscule pinprick that distracts her for the first time, from where she is. It beckons her, calling her to come to the surface to some end Alana does not yet know. But she is nothing if not thorough, so Alana finds her limbs are free to move about this time, and begins to climb.

She’s been fine with leaving any place she finds comfortable before this, and each time has led her to a great many places. Some have proven better than others, some she shudders to think about, but they are always somewhere _else._ This time, Alana knows, will prove the same. 

This water is breathable, and she will survive if she takes it in, so Alana starts slowly, though is careful to not take it in yet, pondering instead. The light: what could it be? Above water, she reasons, maybe sunlight on land? It would be curious to see above this water, she doesn’t expect to find herself back in her home where she began. Back on land, she would have to expel the liquid from her lungs, which would be unpleasant, and likely put her out of commission for a few minutes, so Alana plans to avoid it if she can. The water would only weigh her down, anyway, forcing her to expend more energy she may need later on in her ascent and could only hinder her. Alana hasn’t noticed that, lost in her thoughts, she has stilled completely and is now gently breathing the water, in and out.

Alana’s eyes almost slip closed, but the light twinkles instead, catching her eye suddenly and she’s jerked back towards her goal. She starts to move again, eyes now locked on whatever it is, trusting it to keep her focused and inspired, clenching her jaw as she fights strongly against the distracting embrace of darkness. 

A current starts to fight against her, pushing downwards just enough that Alana has to use twice her energy just to stay in one place, let alone keep moving. The water seems… almost clearer now? Not quite as suffocating or encompassing as before. The deep, full darkness still presses in all around, lurking at all her edges, but it seems like the light is more rounded now. Like some of it has fought its way through the darkness to find her. Alana kicks and her arms spin relentlessly, but she’s getting tired. A deep-set horror is starting to settle in her chest. She’s felt it coming on for a while, prickling at the corners of her mind as the sensation of calm and safety abated with every meter she rose. It swirls now, within her, forcing her breath to come faster, her heartbeat wild, and her eyes widening in momentary panic. She loses control, thrashing blindly rather than focusing on any singular direction, and feels the sting of tears behind her eyes, regardless of knowing they could never fall. 

Her hand finds a patch of water that doesn’t move, reaching above the punishing current, and there’s a moment of startled clarity. Alana finds a single thought in her mind to hold on to, desperately grasps at it to ground her as she shoves herself higher until she’s risen fully above the current and is alone is still water once more. All she knows is she can’t stop. Alana pours all her concentration into the methodical movement of her limbs, ignores as best she can the deafening sound of her mind as she holds on to that singular fact. She can’t stop. She won’t. 

The light above still dances, tauntingly as though oblivious to the loss she very nearly suffered. Alana grits her teeth and forces another stroke upwards. Another. It’s getting hard to pull. The light hasn’t changed the temperature of the water like she thought it would. It all still feels cold. The sun feels cold.

This time, when Alana feels water move against her, she knows it’s not her doing. There’s something down here with her and she knows somehow she doesn’t want to meet it. Fear grips her anew and Alana moves with renewed vigor, intimately aware of how her exhaustion has slowed her. The water in her lungs grows heavy, and she knows she’s near to drowning, so close to the surface. The water moves again, more urgently this time, and Alan knows she’s been found. She swears she feels something move against her side. It knows where she is and it’s closing in.

_No!_ There’s a fury fueling her now. She _refuses_ to be dragged back down, living or dead. One final pull of the darkness reminds her in a heady rush how safe and sweet and gentle and calm it was… and she slows for a beat, spinning to glance back down towards where she came from. The maw of the darkness looms, greedy and ravenous, and she is almost drawn to it. Alana is nearly halfway around when the light above her glitters again, reminding her not to think too much as she glances back towards the surface. The deep water beneath her… _is lies. It’s all lies_! She was never safe and anytime she’s in the water she never will be! Alana knows as a terrifying instinct she must get out _now,_ by any means necessary. Her muscles shriek and her lungs burn and her deceptive mind battles her for every remaining inch, but Alana forces herself to stare towards the star, feeling it pull her towards some freezing contrast to the water she can’t help but find herself just as lost in. There is a voice in her mind she knows is not hers, that she’s too concerned with survival to identify now. She narrows her eyes as she reaches upwards, and Alana knows now she’s close, so close.

Her hand breaks the surface with a gentle nudge, fingertips finding freezing air and dryness like she hasn’t known in far too long to think about. The relief is so sudden and frantic Alana nearly gives up entirely when she feels it rush over her. Her limbs practically collapse and she has to strain around the pounding of her heartbeat to force her head above water too. Her hair is in her face and she can’t see and the only part of her that’s broken the surface is her eyes, still clenched shut but suddenly aware of the distinct lack of light she wasn’t expecting. Something moves again near her legs and Alana is reminded why her ascent has been so rapid, and she’s afraid again. She flails away from the thing, tearing through stems and leaves, fighting the urge to stop moving altogether and remove them from her body. 

Her palm finds solid land and she grabs a fistful of grass immediately, jerking herself up and out, pulling herself out of the liquid and not stopping until she’s a few feet away and collapses bodily into the ground.

It’s the first time she’s taken a breath of real air this whole time, and it’s just as uncomfortable as she thought it would be. Alana rolls to the side, coughing and choking as great rivulets of water spill from her mouth. Clean and clear, nearly invisible against the ground, it pools innocently beneath her before running back downhill into the pond. She swipes the last of it away from her chin and goes to stand. 

It’s too soon to stand, she realizes, as her head spins violently. Alana stumbles backwards, unthinkingly, head pounding and dizzy, and cries out when she feels herself finally tip over fully on the edge and water splash against her back. She doesn’t brace herself, expects to keep sinking forever, takes one last breath of sweet air to hold with her until she drowns, and resigns herself to simply floating as she gathers her bearings. Her hair swirls above her, wrapping thoughtlessly around lilypad stems and her hands rise, palms upward and outstretched. They feel the strangely comforting chill of the last rays of sunlight she ever expects to feel. Satisfied, Alana goes to turn herself back vertical and- her feet touch something solid? And her knees follow? She pushes upwards on both and once again feels the air on her face. She’s above the surface again and this pond is no more than 4 feet deep. 

Alana shoves herself standing again and glances around, taking in her surroundings for the first time. She blindly darts her eyes over everything without really seeing any of it, and finds her head tilted back towards where the light used to be once more. It’s odd that she can see everything clear as day, but the sky is light and clear, smooth like her hospital, but less white. It felt so real when she was rising. It seemed a strange sun, cold and warm at once, dangerous yet necessary, a force of life just as swiftly one’s demise should they stray too far. It’s magnificent and Alana found she never wanted to look away. For now though, it’s gone. Alana lets her head fall back for another moment, trembling and rubbing her hands over her face as though to hide her tears. She reaches upwards, as though expecting it to return, or even to reach back, just to feel its light on her palm. 

Another thing catches her attention, though, and not what she expected. Her arm she expected to be wet, that was no surprise. The curious thing is that it remains just as wet as when she first surfaced, and the water was not moving. The longer she looks, the more she feels something is wrong. The water is not clear, but instead a deep, violent red, and when she lowers her arm, dragging her opposite hand against it, nothing changes. It still glitters when she turns it, and it hasn’t even smeared. Her whole body is drenched, glittering like a billion galaxies on her skin as Alana twists this way and that and finds herself painted entirely red. 

Her gaze falls to the water once more, clear still but made fuzzy by waves of her own making, covered in lilies and lilypads, knowing that underneath each is tied an intricate network of thousands of webs tied together, interconnected and separate. She’s convinced, for a moment, she sees a face in the foam. Alana steps backward and squints, trying to see what she can. Just a silhouette. Not one she’s accustomed to, not one she sees frequently, but one she’s come to know since Jack’s suspicions called said silhouette’s person into the halls of the FBI on numerous occasions before her voluntary withdrawal of the visits. It’s gone as soon as it appears, washed away like it never happened, and Alana lifts her gaze back towards land.

It’s painfully clear where she dragged herself upwards earlier in her panic. The grass is filthy and torn, with patches of dirt sticking out like sore thumbs where she had ripped the grass out entirely. The flowers are scattered and flattened, many torn to shreds. This, she feels bad for. Alana has never found herself particularly partial to flowers, but these are torn by _her_ hand. It’s _her_ fault they’ve fallen apart. She moves to the side of the pond, deliberately dragging herself through the water plants, though some still manage to slip away unharmed, and kneels down beside the flowers. 

She takes one of the small flowers in her hand and turns it over, pinching it off the stem. Lifting it to eye-height, Alana watches the flower drift downwards from between her fingertips until it comes to rest in the pond. She takes the remaining plant by the roots and drags it up, out of the ground in one quick pull, tossing it carelessly behind her so she can reach the next one, which she also places in the water, but this time cradles first, gently, as though afraid of hurting it. They drift away towards the center before sinking beneath, easy and calm as she had been. 

Alana stands to retrieve a few more full-grown versions of the plant to place here, stepping out of the water so she can kneel behind where they’re intended to go. Carefully, once having them both in hand, she digs out a patch of dirt, one for each plant, and sets the roots inside, spreading them out and arranging them so they will take. These flowers will grow here now, stable and firm where she has placed them.

There’s movement nearby, though it doesn’t startle her. Alana knows she’s not the only one here anymore. Another pair of hands in the dirt nearby pat down where another set of flowers have been buried. This pair is not the only one. More hands, all around the pool, forming a perfect circle, surrounding the water with the plant, each one buried kindly by a different silhouette, each of which Alana knows by name. Alana Bloom, Jack Crawford, Freddie Lounds, Bedelia du Maurier, Abigail Hobbs, Will Graham, and Hannibal Lecter all kneel in front of their own patch of flowers. Each of them plant a set of Sweet Williams around the bloody pond in turn. Each of them teases the flowers of their Heart Attack to bloom, vibrant and full. 

They’re all gone just as quickly as they appear, and Alana finds herself gazing upwards again, where she imagines the sun would be. As a child, as _any_ child, she had always been told never to look at the sun: it would hurt and her eyes would be damaged. This, for the most part, was true. Her eyes had stung any time she’d looked at it too long, even for only a few seconds, so she didn’t look. Her invisible light now, though, was different. It felt more like a moon. Ever-present and a capable catalyst of great and terrible things, yet reserved and often overlooked. Alana was entranced.

She blinks, once, and there is a source again to the light she sees in the sky. It is no longer a sterile wall of light like her hospital room. It is drawn in to one singular figure. Human. A woman, ethereal and radiant and _impossible_ to ignore. Her hair trails behind her, pulling forward when she slows as though she were underwater, resting in a circle around her head, like a dark halo. The woman’s face is stern and hurt, but also patient and open, and it softens when her gaze meets Alana’s. 

Like two mirror images, they both reach forward at once. Alana feels a touch against her fingertips and finds her hand tilted flush and held by this lady. She is pulled forward and she knows she is going inside a star where she will burn apart in a flash and will have no remains save for the molecules released by her passionate demise. She knows this, she understands every minute detail; before, during, and after, and yet, Alana realizes she doesn’t mind. She is perfectly satisfied with such an end. Not satisfied like she was in the pond, consumed and smothered and vanished, held tightly in a cocoon of safety and calm. Satisfied in an entirely new way that is both identical and exactly opposite. One she is allowed to _choose._ And choose she does. Her eyes close, and she can still see. 

Alana is still drenched in blood, painted like a second skin, and will remain that way no matter what she may try to remove it, but the gentle touch of her light now seems to paint her anew again. Golden, beautiful light that shifts continuously and makes Alana feel _powerful._ It comes entirely from the light and it belongs completely to Alana, and they both feed on the very _notion_ of its power. She lets herself, now and forevermore, just for a single fleeting moment, have it. Relish it. Consume it just as fully as she gives herself over.

Alana used to have dreams, before. When she was still trapped in sterile hospital walls, in the sterile lush coffin of Hannibal’s kitchen, when she was still discovering exactly what had happened. 

Tonight, she had a vision. 

And this morning she wakes up already forgetting the details, freezing up and gasping sharply one time as though expecting to find herself back on the cold metal table or the rich deep bed, both surrounded by tall walls so suffocating and inescapable she sympathizes more than ever with Abigail’s nightly trips ‘out’ from the facility. But she doesn’t find either one. Next to her, a warm body huddles closer, sensing her distress, wrapping an arm around her middle, vocalizing a gentle sigh in a soothing exhale, and Alana remembers. She hasn’t had a single dream since she left, not since the very last night. 

Now, she is here. She is here now, in bed, with a woman. Her tightly held breath eases out of her, taking the tenseness of her muscles with it, and Alana shifts to return the hold. She presses a soft kiss to Margot’s forehead in silent gratitude, stroking through her hair as she takes in her unique scent, letting herself get lost in it. She will deal with Mason when they get up, and she will deal with Hannibal and Will when they are delivered later today. For now, she has this. And for now, this is what she chooses.


End file.
